


He Takes Care To Keep Me Sweet

by sternflammenden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:18:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/pseuds/sternflammenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roose and Barbrey are friends with benefits and don't treat each other very nicely. It operates on the presumption that this has been going on for years, on and off.  Takes place during ADWD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Takes Care To Keep Me Sweet

She began fucking her brother-in-law again shortly after his banners returned to the north, in preparation for Ramsay’s wedding. _That foolishness_ , she thought with disgust. Barbrey did not like to think of the act in that way, but there was no other word so fitting for something so coarse and so harsh. Her own late husband, a rather disinterested lover at best, had silently taken his rights as custom demanded and departed.

The fact that he was newly-wed did not seem to trouble Bolton. He was a great believer in keeping his wives perfectly happy and utterly ignorant. Of course he bedded Fat Walda, and often, the better to get a son. But the darker aspects of the act were put aside. It would not do if anything untoward reached old Walder’s ears. Barbrey thought that the girl was dull, but pleasant enough company. She did not have much in common with an adolescent, but she smiled indulgently and provided her with the utmost courtesy when she had the misfortune to be in her presence. Luckily, that was not often.

She had been sitting at her mirror, undoing her hair, and rose when there was a scratch at her door. _It’s never more than a whisper with you_ , she thought, with a frown, crossing to admit her lord. _I’d rather he break down the door._

Wordlessly, Barbrey began to unlace her dress, her hands steady as always, slowly slipping the gown off of her shoulders. She never lowered her gaze, her face defiant as she completed her task, deft fingers loosening her stays.

“How is your wife?” she murmured.

He pulled away from her, eying her suspiciously. “She is with child.”

“I should offer my congratulations.” _That didn’t take very long_ , Barbrey thought, as a sardonic smile spread across her features. “I am so happy that she is to your liking, Roose. You are certainly a man of surprising tastes.”

He chose to ignore the insult. “War makes strange bedfellows. I shall send her your regards.”

“Do.” She reclined on the bed then, waiting, staring at him clinically as he disrobed.

Barbrey gasped as he slid a finger inside of her. It would not do if she were anything less than prepared for what came next, and as always, she closed her eyes, imagining different hands touching her most intimate places, hands from a girlhood that had long since departed. As her lord pleasured her, her breath grew ragged, anticipating her climax.

“Put out the light,” she moaned, “the light!” It was but a single candle, but it kept her from going away. In the dark, things could change, but the light was so harsh and unforgiving.

He drew away before she could come. “Why should I? You are no blushing maid. This is enough of a farce as it is.”

Frustrated, she rounded on him. “Farce, my Lord? It it’s so ridiculous, then why do you still come to me? If anything’s a farce, it’s this fool’s errand that you’re on with that Stark girl. And that bastard get of yours. This is just –“

“I would not continue with that thought, _Lady_ Dustin. It would not be wise. And I do not come here for political discussions.” His voice was neutral, but its firmness made her grow cold.

 _I should not have dared that_ , she thought, _oh, but he is careful, careful not to bruise, but firm enough to command. And so calm._

She struggled half-heartedly, trying to reach the candle, but he was a great deal stronger than she, and so, she resigned herself. He pinned her against the headboard then, and she realized that this time, she wasn’t going to be able to shut him out with her child’s fantasies.

_So be it, then._

He had always been so guarded with her before, but this time was different. This time, his fingers left marks as they ran forcibly over her breasts, her stomach, all of her secret places. It was an intrusion, almost a violation, but she hadn’t the heart anymore to protest.

_Is he punishing me?_

She’d always preferred to keep things removed, sequestered, concealed in the shadows to better preserve her old illusions. She liked the idea of preserving the memory of her dead lover. Of using someone else’s body to indulge herself on two fronts. Even with Willam, there had been little in the way of affection and it had been very easy to push his face aside.

“Oh, this old habit,” she sighed then, as he bit at her throat, her shoulders. She felt the ornately carved headboard digging into her back, the frills and thorns of the pattern cutting into her flesh, scraping against her as she rose and fell. It was so easy to lie back and let this happen, to allow herself to be used instead. In a way, she had wanted this for years. She felt as though it were a fate well-deserved.

He forced her legs apart and thrust inside of her. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she couldn’t quite understand why.

_Oh, Bethany, is this how you made that sweet-faced child? But at least it’s clean, at least it’s honest, at least it isn’t pretending anymore._

It was pain, but it was exquisite pain. Nothing had ever hurt like that first time, nothing had hurt like what had followed, so this was nothing new, nothing shocking. But this reminded her that she still breathed, that she still could feel something other than bitterness.

She raked her nails down his back and he gasped, more in surprise than in pain. It thrilled her.

_I can wound too, you see. I hope that Walda sees and wonders what you do._

_This thought pleased her, and she began to respond to every touch, every twinge, every thought of shame. Her eyes were open._

_At last, she felt as though she was going to climax, and right before she came, he pulled out of her and finished himself with his hand. Barbrey lay back on the bed, face flushed, her chest heaving, as a terrible ache spread through her and everything dissolved._

_  
_You bastard._  
_

“Is that how it was with Bethany?” she gasped, as the heat receded and her breathing slowed. “It’s no wonder that you only had the one.”

She noticed that he flinched slightly. Being able to crack his cool exterior was almost as pleasurable to her as the denied orgasm would have been. Her dead sister’s name was always a sure thing. “Is that how it was when you lay with Brandon Stark?” he whispered, slightly panting. “If I recall, that was without issue, was it not?”

She could only say nothing.

“Tell me, Barbrey, does it still pain you?” He smiled then, stroking her cheek. His touch was gentle as a lover’s, but his voice was cruel.

_He is mocking me, of course._

She only stared at him, an old hatred boiling inside of her. She wanted nothing more than to strike and shatter his perfect composure. Oh, one day she would break him. But not yet. She wasn’t finished _yet_.

“No more than anything else.” Her eyes burned.

“You always were an appalling liar.” He kissed her then, roughly. He’d never done that before; such true intimacies had always been avoided, an unspoken agreement between them. She wasn’t expecting it, and as her guard dropped she responded to it, clinging to him, returning it tenfold. She felt his hands in her hair, pulling it cruelly, fingers digging into her neck, her shoulders.

She let her rage flow through her, and responded in kind, using her teeth, biting his shoulder. She felt herself grow wet again when he cried out.

_I can wound as well as any man._

_But I can’t want this._

_Not with him._

_Never with him._

_But I do._

And she yielded this time, and it didn’t matter that the candle burned on.

This time, he let her come.

After he had gone, she looked in the mirror again. Her ivory skin was mottled with bruises, spreading like flowers. It was no concern; her gown would conceal everything on the morrow. A gash on her collarbone gleamed in the flickering candlelight. She ran her finger along it, watching the redness spread, dripping downward. A token of her lord’s affections.

How it satisfied her.


End file.
